


Good Friends

by d-ama-ien (ama_janee)



Category: Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series)
Genre: Alcohol, Emotional Baggage, Flirting, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mentions of Sex, Other, Surprise Kissing, talk about daddy issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:20:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23772958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ama_janee/pseuds/d-ama-ien
Summary: Damien wasn't only my boss, the mayor. He was a good friend, he was something a little more. Things get cleared up when we've had a bit to drink, loosening our sarcasm into sincerity.
Relationships: Damien | The Mayor/Y/N | The District Attorney (Who Killed Markiplier?)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 60





	Good Friends

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been watching Law and Order SVU and we finally got to the season with the best ADA in the world, Barba, and now I want to write Mayor Attorney. I can’t exactly explain the correlation but, you know, it’s there somewhere.

"Please, just calm down and listen to me for once-"

"Damien, I listen to you all the damn time! You're my boss, I'd say I listen more often than I ignore you," Damien was drawing the issue out of proportion. He tended to do that, he was much more hot-headed than anyone ever realized. "Dames, I'm going. I know you can't come, but you have a fully stocked bar in your basement, and I do not, so I will be going,"

"For fuck's sake, why are you like this?" Damien grabs his cane before following me, blocking my exit from the room with his arm across the doorway.

"Unresolved daddy issues. Now, if you would kindly get out of my way-" I attempt to duck past him, but he stubbornly moves his cane to block that path as well.

"Getting drunk in a speakeasy isn't going to resolve your daddy issues, that's what sex and therapy are for. If you want to get trashed at least come to my place instead of doing it publically, it's bad for both of our reputations when you get caught," Damien stared into my eyes. While his face was stern, his eyes were warm and lively. I knew he wasn't actually mad at me, and I knew if I refused and went to a bar instead, I'd get nothing more than a disapproving frown in the morning, but I couldn't say no to his eyes. Probably why he arranged our position so I'd have no choice but to look into his eyes directly. 

"Is this an offer for alcohol, sex, or therapy?" I ask, just for the sake of being annoying. Sometimes I don't know how Damien tolerates me. 

"Any of them," Damien says flippantly, smirking at my startled laugh. This is the side of him the public doesn't ever see, the side of him privy only to his closest friends. To me. If anyone had been left in the office to hear that discussion, our reputations would be trashed. It would turn into a massive scandal that would be printed in every paper for weeks to come, and Damien may very well end up impeached from the moral outcry. Good for us that we're the only ones who ever work in the office past 10pm, all the other workers either taking it home or leaving it for the morning at that point. 

"I'm coming for the drinks, sex and therapy are depending on how drunk you get me."

"How drunk you get yourself, you mean. I'm the one always trying to cut you off if you can recall,"

"Seeing as I'm usually drunk as hell by that point, I can honestly say I don't recall. Maybe you should cut me off earlier," I loop my arm through Damien's free one, letting him set the pace as we head out to his car. His driver makes a hefty salary from this gig- more for his silence than for the task of driving. This man probably has more dirt on Damien than I do. You can't trust anyone in politics, except for those in your bed and on your payroll. It's when someone is involved in pleasure _and_ pay that the rules get messy. 

The car ride was near silent- while the driver had no good reason to spill the beans, there also wasn't any good reason to serve him beans because of the potential of him spilling them. That didn't stop Damien from resting his hand on my knee, something that the driver should be well used to at this point. 

"I'll have the staff prepare your room as soon as we get inside, then we can unwind a bit," Damien said the statement casually, but I knew him well enough that the statement was for the driver's benefit. It was true that he will order my room be prepared, but that meant that servants will ensure proper work attire and bathroom supplies for the morning shower would be prepared, not the room be made for me to sleep there. Damien preferred I sleep in his room, so he can prevent me from drowning in my own vomit or something equally distasteful. He was a good friend like that. 

I knew that at some point, we had certainly crossed the line from "good friend" to something else, and I was sure Damien knew it as well, but he never brought it up, and I knew better than to initiate that conversation. Our behavior in our friendship was risky enough with our statuses, we don't need to take things further than they are. With all of my musing, I hardly noticed we were pulling up the drive to Damien's home, the mayoral mansion. As usual, there were press staked out in the hopes of catching a story, but, as usual, they would leave with nothing of interest. Damien had withdrawn his hand from its resting place on my knee, and there was nothing particularly unusual about the district attorney going home with the mayor. Oh, the horrid scandal of continuing work outside of the office. At least, that's what we would say if they tried to push some story out of our late evening rendezvous. Damien's image was carefully cultivated, if he ever _were_ to be engaging in an illicit relationship, it wouldn't be happening here. Well, except for the current case, where the (slightly) illicit relationship was nothing that could look suspicious to an outsider. 

The car came to a stop just outside the front door, the driver quickly hopping out to get the door for me and help me out of the car before he did the same for Damien. The man wished us a good night before getting back into the car, going to move it to the garage as we entered Damien's home. A maid was by the door, quickly taking our coats and excusing herself, another one appearing at Damien's call and hurrying off to prepare my room. The butler came next, knowing he would be acting as our bartender for the next few hours. I'm not sure how Damien found a butler who also happened to be an amazing mixologist, but I suppose the mayor has easy access to connections like that. 

Damien rests his hand on my back now as we walk to the stairs that lead down the basement. All the touches we shared felt so natural, it was so easy, and it just seemed right to find myself in his arms. He pulled his hand away when we reached the stairs, and while I knew that he needed to hold the rail, I still felt the loss of his touch deeply in my chest. I looked forward to the drinks even more now, knowing that alcohol was about the one thing that drowned that ache away like nothing else.

"The usual?" The butler asks me, setting about preparing my drink as soon as I nod his direction. Damien's bar was stocked better than most speakeasies were, one of those privileges of his various connections with less than savory flavors of people. I took a long sip of my drink as soon as the butler handed it off to me, and he quickly set to work on pouring Damien's drink of choice.

"So, you're getting drunk because of daddy issues now?" Damien asks as the butler hands him his drink.

"Sure, something like that. Seemed like a good excuse anyway,"

"Do you want to talk about it?" Damien's tone was lacking that playful lilt from earlier, and I knew it was a serious offer.

"I was fairly clear earlier when I said therapy is completely reliant on how drunk I am, and I am not nearly drunk enough for it right now," I cover my tense tone with a laugh and another sip of my drink. As much as I love Damien, there are specific topics that just don't need to come up. 

"Well, I could always share my own if it would make you feel better," I glance at Damien, surprised, but he's facing the other way. Damien doesn't talk about his family often. I knew his sister, and I know to not bring her up since she left with Damien's closest childhood friend. I even knew about him spending more time at the house of his two friends than he did at home because of his parents, but that was the extent of it. 

"You don't need to do that, Dames."

"If I want to?" It seems that Damien requires a much smaller amount of alcohol to be ready for therapy than what I need.

"Then I'm willing to listen. You're my dearest friend, after all," I place a hand on Damien's, which was resting on the bartop. The butler pours Damien another drink the second he finishes his current one, and Damien downs that one even faster than the first. "As your district attorney, I feel I must remind you that while we have no office work tomorrow, we do have that press conference at eleven,"

"You need to recall that advice more than I do, my dear. I'll be cutting myself off after the next one," Damien accepts the next drink from the butler but doesn't raise it for even a sip. I however, finish off my drink and start into the next one immediately. I don't want to forget anything Damien intends to share, so I take small sips instead of downing it how I usually would.

"You're familiar with my sister, and our friends, of course," I had met both Mark and Celine, though I didn't know them well, and Damien had spoken of William enough that it felt like I knew him. "Celine and I always preferred to be at Mark and Will's house. Mark's parents never seemed to be around, I knew the staff better than I knew them, but that was much preferred to what it was like at our home. Neither Celine or I had a decent relationship with our father. She was too hot-headed and boyish, I was too soft-spoken and kind-hearted. I inherited quite the temper from that man, but I absolutely despise it which is why I try not to yell. You're well aware that I don't always succeed. Our father never struck us, but the yelling was worse than any blow I've ever taken. We didn't cry when he passed," 

I was silent when Damien finished. I felt terrible that he had gone through that, and that I had never known, but I also felt a sense of warmth that he trusted me with the information. "I know you weren't seeking pity, but I'm sorry you had to go through that. I can relate to your difficulties in parental relations,"

Damien looked at me for the first time since we had started drinking, a small smile on his face. "Your pitty is entirely unwanted, though I appreciate the understanding. If you ever want to get into your daddy issues, know that I understand,"

"Still not drunk enough for therapy, I get horny before I get emotional," Damien frowns at my deflection, nudging my shoulder. "Sorry, sorry. Just not ready to share,"

Damien nods, and I know he understands. He smiles slightly then, turning his stare towards the butler and jerking his head in a silent cue of "make yourself scarce." The butler leaves the basement immediately, removing our untouched drinks so he can wash the glasses without continuing to encroach on our space. 

"Why'd you kick him out? I wasn't done with that drink, I'll have you know," I give a half-assed protest, but I don't actually mind the butler's exit.

"You told me to cut you off earlier, so I did. Besides, I wanted to kiss you, and having the butler present would be terribly improper," I feel my cheeks flush as I process his words, choking on some cheeky response. My shock makes it embarrassingly easy for Damien to steal a kiss, leaving me even more shocked. Damien grows flustered at my lack of response, his cheeks burning red as well as he begins to stammer.

"That was horribly inappropriate, I shouldn't have done that without asking, I suppose I misread-" I cut Damien off with a kiss, which he melts into easily. I pull away slowly, still flustered but also feeling a massive sense of relief. 

"You didn't misread a thing, you just surprised me is all," Damien smiles warmly, his beautiful brown eyes glowing with affection. 

"That is quite a relief, I would hate for things to be awkward with you," 

"Oh, things will be terribly awkward, that's just how these things go once you've sobered up. But, for now, no awkwardness," Damien laughs, a real laugh, though it seems to be from relief more than from finding my statement funny. 

"It's late, and we do have business to attend to in the morning, shall we retire to my room?"

"I was expecting more alcohol to be on the docket before the sex part of solving daddy issues came up," I joke as I stand, offering Damien my arm to stabilize while he stood and grabbed his cane.

"Another time, my dear, not when we have a press conference in the morning," Damien answers with a laugh. It's clear that something has changed, though we don't put any words to it. Words aren't needed for this feeling, it's more than clear what it is. We're good friends- and I'm in love with him.


End file.
